


Where You Find It

by itsmadeofgold



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Kradam, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-09
Updated: 2011-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:59:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmadeofgold/pseuds/itsmadeofgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for prompt requesting fic starring Kradam as thieves who meet on the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where You Find It

_Neil was supposed to be the smart one._ Adam kept thinking it, over and over, like it would make any difference.

Neil was smart but kind of a dick. Adam was lovable but flaky. That was their whole thing, always had been. Adam, it turned out, also had a flair for the dramatic and a love of beautiful things; he’d found himself in what he liked to consider a fairly comfortable life of crime almost without trying. He’d just always found it so easy to reach out and take.

But it didn’t mean he wasn’t a nice _guy._ Neil was the asshole. He couldn’t do their parents the favor of finishing college and getting a desk job like all the regular nerds? He was the smartest guy that Adam knew, so, of _course_ he would instead choose to devote his life to existential angst and betting on longshots.

He made Adam’s felonies look good by comparison.

Especially now that he’d fucked up for good and all, and managed to bring Adam down the shitter with him. He’d really won the bad son Olympics this time.

Adam crumpled the piece of paper in his fist - he didn’t need to look down at the address Neil had scribbled for him to know he’d found the place. There was a small neon sign - blinking simply _Joe’s_ \- hanging over a nondescript glass door. The bell jingled over Adam’s head as he walked through.

  
*****   


“I was shocked for a moment when Neil said you were his brother,” Dale said, leaning forward to press his lips against his tented hands, elbows resting on the shabby table that served as his desk. Adam stood in the middle of what was little more than a storage room with some nods toward its secondary function as an office.

A bookmaking office, in this case.

“For a second I thought he was lying,” he continued. “These people will say anything, you know. And he’d bullshitted me plenty before. But then I wondered how somebody like him would know your name.”

Adam raised his eyebrows, waiting for Dale to get to his point.

“Well,” he said. “If what I’ve heard is true, then your particular talents might be of some use to me. And to your brother in turn. You specialize in the arts, yes?”

Adam nodded.

“Contemporary art, too? You’d know, say, a Jean Michel Basquiat sketch if you saw one?” Adam fought not to wince at the way he said the name - stringing it all together like one phlegmy word, putting too much fake-French on it. Pretentious.

“Of course,” Adam said. “You have a particular one in mind?”

“Sit,” Dale said, gesturing to one of the beat-up diner chairs that lined the back wall. Retirees from the deli floor, Adam guessed, pulling one up and taking a seat. “The sketch I’m looking for isn’t in a gallery. It’s unknown, actually - hidden - and finding it will be part of your job.”

“Hidden?”

“It was stolen from me recently, by a disgruntled ex-employee. I had him doing odd jobs for me and I guess he thought he wasn’t being fairly compensated - I don’t know. He took the drawing, anyway, knowing it was important to me. To prove a _point,_ I guess.” He threw his hands up, rolling his eyes. “Kris was my sneak. The rest of my guys, they’re just muscle. They wouldn’t know the sketch from any other scrap of paper.”

“Couldn’t you just make him give it back? Use the muscle?”

Dale shook his head. “I will if I have to. But having this connection to you makes it convenient to try this first. I’d rather not make a big mess if I don’t have to. I just want what’s mine back. You find my Basquiat and bring it back to me, your brother lives. That’s the deal.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then he doesn’t,” Dale snorted. “Isn’t that sort of implied? I’ve had enough of him, honestly. Chasing him has become a pain in my ass. I don’t mind making an example of him for the other deadbeats either - would quite enjoy it, actually - so it’s a win for me either way.”

Adam bowed his head, tempted to kill his brother himself for getting him involved in this. For being _stupid_ enough to be in this position to begin with. But what was done was done.

“Tell me what you know about the guy,” he said, looking up.

  
*****   


Adam left the meeting with a lot more information about the drawing than about the guy he was supposed to find. As far as the sketch went, Dale had details to share - which side was the most frayed, the exact position of the dragon and the crown. As if Adam might find _several_ small, unknown Basquiat sketches and have to pick Dale’s out from the bunch.

He had less to say about the thief. Kris Allen. He gave Adam a basic description - short, slight, brown hair and eyes - unable to come up with an especially distinguishing feature. He also told Adam which neighborhood he lived in, though he couldn’t give him the exact address; Dale said when he was looking for him, he tended to find Kris at a Starbucks in that area.

And that was it. He’d stood, given Adam a final warning: “We’ll be watching Neil, so don’t think you can get him out of this.”

The words were ringing in his ears as he walked out of the deli, turning toward the neighborhood Dale had indicated. He didn’t think he’d actually find the guy, but he felt a little bit like he was going to go crazy, and he knew that if he saw Neil he was likely to throttle him himself and save Dale - or one of his thugs - the trouble.

So he’d just treat it like a _job_ for now, just to start with. Something to focus his mind on. Sure, he didn’t usually have to stalk people or hunt for scraps of paper, but art is art and stealing it is stealing it, right? Sort of?

  
*****   


Adam was on his second latte when he spotted Kris Allen.

A few guys matching the description had been in and out since he’d been watching the place, but he hadn’t felt the need to move toward any of them. He was just trusting his instincts on that one - none of them had really struck him as a _sneak._

Kris announced himself pretty plainly when he came in, slickly relieving the patron in front of him of his wallet the moment he’d returned it to his back pocket following his order. The move was so smooth, a less experienced eye could have been looking right at them and not even noticed it.

Adam saw, though. He smiled.

Kris turned his head quickly from one side to the other, glancing around the room. _After_ making the pull, Adam thought. Cocky.

Pretty, too. Dale had left that part out. Maybe not the kind of thing he would notice. He was positively curvy in tight jeans, a heather green t-shirt tight across his back. His hair was doing this spiky every-which-way thing that made him look like he had just rolled out of bed.

 _Oh, I like him,_ Adam thought, and that’s really where everything went wrong. Even more wrong, that is.

Adam watched as Kris leaned flirtatiously toward the barista to place his order, one foot coming off the floor. He pulled a card from his wallet to pay, and Adam would have sworn it was the same brown leather he’d seen a flash of a moment earlier.

  
*****   


He let Kris get outside the door, then followed, jogging to catch up to him on the corner.

“Hey!” Adam called. Kris looked over his shoulder, doing a double-take when he saw Adam coming toward him. “Hey,” Adam said again.

“Do I know you?” Kris said, turning to face him.

“No. I just saw you in there and wanted to tell you,” he smiled. “I was impressed by that pick.”

Kris’s raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Practiced eye,” Adam said, tapping the side of his head lightly with one finger. “Takes one to know one, you know.”

“Oh,” Kris said, still sounding wary. “Well, thanks.”

“Don’t be freaked out. I just thought we’d have stuff in common, since we seem to be in the same line of work.” He smirked, then leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “Did you pay for your coffee with that guy’s card?”

Kris’s face relaxed, and he seemed to smile despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, shrugging.

Adam laughed.

  
*****   


He settled for getting Kris’s phone number that time. But at least he had made contact and decided to really give this project a try; he wasn’t packing himself and Neil up for parts unknown as yet.

Adam already hated the idea of stealing from Kris, and he knew that was bad. It seemed like this sketch was kind of a trophy, and if either Kris or Dale had to have it then Adam thought Kris should be the one. But he also didn’t want his brother to be _whacked_ or whatever, so personal preference aside he knew he had to get used to the idea that he was on Dale’s team in this dispute.

Adam was feeling an unsettling mix of guilt and excitement as he mentally thought through his task; right up to the moment he reached Neil’s door and he remembered how pissed he was.

He knocked. Hard.

Neil answered the door looking like he hadn’t slept in days, and probably he hadn’t.

Adam stepped around him and Neil closed the door, turning to meet him in the dim living room.

“Well?” Neil said. He looked stooped. Broken.

“Well, you’re an asshole,” Adam said. “And if I manage to get you out of this, you are never to so much as enter a fantasy football league ever again, OK? Ever.”

Neil nodded sadly, sinking down onto the couch. “What does he want?”

“Somebody stole something from him and he wants me to steal it back.”

“Can you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Adam said. “It’s fucked up that I have to.” His hands clenched again at the thought of it. “I’m not a hired fucking thug, you know? This isn’t what I _do._ And I don’t even know where to begin looking for what he wants. This isn’t the same as asking for money, and you are a prick for dragging me into this.”

“I know.”

“He’s going to kill you.”

Neil nodded, but there was apparently nothing else to say.

Adam sighed and turned to leave. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said on the way out the door. “They’re watching. I’ll do what I can.”

  
*****   


Adam had no time to follow the rules; he called Kris the next day. Just to keep things simple he asked him if he’d like to meet for coffee at that same Starbucks, and was pleased when Kris said he’d like that.

Especially the way his voice sounded like he’d _really_ like that.

Adam was smiling when he hung up the phone, and flashed an even bigger version of that same look when he saw Kris striding toward him later that day. It seemed impossible given the circumstances, but there it was - all his _I like this guy_ responses in working order.

“Hey,” Adam said. “What’s your drink?”

“Mocha,” Kris said. “With whip. Hi.”

“Cool. I’m even going to pay for it with my own money, to make it like official. A _date._ ” He winked. It was almost sad; he knew how much fun this would be if it could be real. He wondered in a back part of his mind if he couldn’t just sneak the drawing away - assuming he could find it - and maybe find a way for Kris not to know he’d taken it?

It was impossible. Getting attached would be a disaster. It wouldn’t be hard to _act_ like he was, though. Not at all.

“Alright,” Kris said, smiling.

  
*****   


Adam kept having to remind himself that it was a fake date. The line got fuzzier as the afternoon turned into evening and they left the coffee shop, walking close together as they wandered toward the restaurants on the harbor, discussing dinner options.

Kris had a really awesome laugh. It was so boyish, it made his nose wrinkle up and closed his eyes. And sometimes he brought his hand up to his chest while he was laughing - it was such a strange gesture, like an old woman who’d been scandalized. Adam found it ridiculously endearing.

They ended up going for seafood. Kris insisting on paying.

“It’s still official,” he said, winking. “Even if it’s not my name on the card. OK?”

Adam laughed. He laughed _so much._ All night. He completely forgot about his brother and his stupid life-or-death scenario. He couldn’t help it. At first he’d tried to stay on his task, at least _mostly._ He’d tried to talk shop, told a few little anecdotes to try and see if they knew any of the same people, see if he could get Kris to say anything about anybody he’d worked with. He never took the bait.

It didn’t even seem like he was hiding anything, really; he just wasn’t interested in talking about _work._ The conversation kept drifting back to music and movies; since they were two of Adam’s favorite things to talk about, he didn’t stand a chance. They spent the bulk of their dinner discussing past and present favorites, telling stories about songs they loved and the memories attached to them.

Adam couldn’t believe it when he realized their plates and two wine bottles were empty. Kris was lolling back in his chair, smiling. The waiter asked if they wanted dessert and Kris shook his head lazily.

“We’ll have that at my place, I think,” he said, looking at Adam as he slipped the stolen debit card in the check folder and sent the waiter away.

  
*****   


The whole thing seemed to come too easily, and the sex was no different. Just like it had been written in a movie - one of those romantic comedies where nothing ever goes _too_ wrong - they were kissing before they came through Kris’s front door, jackets being pushed off shoulders as the latch clicked shut behind them.

Adam hadn’t intended it - not at first. But as the night had gone on and it became obvious that the date - whether technically fake or not - was going very, very well, he found it more and more difficult to remember his mission. The wine probably hadn’t helped, but it wasn’t the biggest part.

All he knew was that he was on a date, and it was going smashingly; the wine buzz was real, as was the flush running up his chest to his neck, the fevered feel of Kris’s lips.

Adam’s hands and mouth, too, were nothing but sincere in their hurried fumbling as he leaned over Kris, bending him. They didn’t seem to know they weren’t supposed to really like this guy.

It wasn’t until later, when their sweat was cooling and Adam was breathing slow and steady again, head finally clearing with Kris curled in a warm ball at his shoulder, that he realized he’d made a horrible mistake. A wave of something like terror washed over him, and he stiffened suddenly, just enough for Kris to notice. He breathed in deeply, opened his eyes and propped himself up to look at Adam, his mouth spreading slowly into a lazy smile.

He said nothing as he sat up, pulling the sheet around his waist before leaning to the floor to snatch up his boxers - Adam was surprised by this little display of modesty. “I mean this in the gentlest possible way,” Kris said as he slipped them on quickly and stood. “But I’m not inviting you to stay. Nothing personal.”

Adam felt the strangest collision of emotions in his chest - something like relief and despair at the same time - and he knew that Neil wasn’t the only one in trouble. There was more than enough of it to go around.

  
*****   


Adam almost felt guilty about sitting in his own living room, on his own couch, instead of being over at Neil’s keeping him company. He knew that was stupid - it was Neil’s own fault his life had been reduced to this. Adam shouldn’t even be involved. He had no reason to feel responsible.

It had only been one day, and Kris had pretty unceremoniously asked him to leave. It would be horrible - humiliating - for Adam to call him now. It just wasn’t how it was done.

Really, the fact that Kris had told him to go wasn’t even that bad. Thieves aren’t naturally the most trusting people; so Kris didn’t want Adam in his house while he was sleeping. In this case that instinct was spot-fucking-on, because Adam was indeed hoping to search his house.

So good for Kris.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t planning on calling. It didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t like Adam. But Adam would so much prefer to be able to wait and let Kris do the calling; on one hand it would just look desperate if he did it himself, on another, it might actually seem suspicious.

Should he just break into the house now that he knew where it was? Ransack it?

He banged the phone against his forehead as he thought about the night before; he’d gone into the house drunk and fucked his mark. That’s how he started his mission to save his brother’s life. He could probably find the bedroom again but knew nothing else about the place.

He sighed. He just needed more information. He’d have to see Kris again, that was all. Try to get in the house one more time, pay attention, and maybe he’d get lucky - in a way that would actually benefit Neil this time. At the very least maybe find out a time when he could come back and really search.

He’d just have to hope that Kris was into an eager guy. He pressed _redial_ and brought the phone to his ear.

  
*****   


“So what’s the status?” Neil said later that day. Adam handed him one of the two paper cups of coffee he’d brought, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“I haven’t found it yet,” Adam said, shrugging.

“Have you _looked?_ ”

Adam huffed. “Yes,” he said. “Listen, I managed to get into the guy’s house, I just couldn’t find it. I’ll just have to go back.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.” Adam looked down, then took a sip of his coffee. “I left him a message.”

“That’s it? You left him a message?” Neil put his cup down. “Adam, my _life_ is on the line. You know where the guy lives? Go get the fucking thing.”

“It’s not that simple,” Adam said. He was pretty sure. “Just let me do this. You know I’m not trying to get you killed, and sorry, but you’re the fuck-up here. So maybe let me take the lead on this one.”

Neil scowled.

“He’ll call. We’ll go out again. I’ll get another chance to look. OK?”

  
*****   


The problem was that he didn’t call. Another whole day went by, and Neil was on Adam’s phone, asking him what was going on.

Adam grabbed his coat and headed out, noticing Dale’s guy - Adam was seeing them everywhere now, this one was stationed across the street - start moving, too, when he turned toward what he now thought of as _Kris’s Starbucks._ Pathetic, he knew, to now be trying to corner the guy, but he was running out of options. And time.

What would he say to him if he was there, anyway? How aggressive could Adam hope to get and still hold on to the _gee, I like you_ vibe he’d been going for?

That was the thing. He wished he didn’t have to move past that; his feelings were hurt now. Because despite the job, he did like Kris. And Kris _had_ had sex with him and then asked him to leave. And he hadn’t called. It sucked to begin with. But having to actually hunt him down was horrifying, and Adam wasn’t sure how to play it when he couldn’t do what he’d been trying to do so far - which was just to act naturally.

In the end he fretted for nothing, because three lattes and one bottle of water later, the most he’d seen of Kris was the back of somebody he’d thought _might_ have been him, retreating out the door and down the sidewalk, out of Adam’s sight before he could get a good look.

  
*****   


By the time Adam decided to go home, he was more than jittery. He knew all the espresso in his system wasn’t helping the feeling of dread that was quickly growing into panic.

What did he do now? Go to Kris’s house? Knock on the door? Or just watch the place, smash and grab it someday when Kris wasn’t there?

Adam was in over his head and he knew it.

He’d once impersonated a caterer to replace a Matisse in a private collection with a fake. He’d joined a security force at a museum in Boston to steal four Dutch still lifes. He’d taken a painting right off a wall in a gallery in the middle of the goddamn day once, saying he was there to clean it. He was a thief, not a _burglar._

He was jolted abruptly out of his stewing when he reached his apartment door and found it half open.

He stood in the hallway a moment, then looked left and right and saw nobody. He entered slowly, trying to be silent; wishing for the first time in his life that he carried a gun. He hadn’t expected Dale’s men to be this intrusive - or imagined they’d have a reason to, so soon - but that only meant he didn’t know what to expect from them at all.

He was afraid.

Two slow, tentative steps brought him into his entryway, and he looked back and forth, sweeping the room with his eyes. He didn’t see anybody; he held perfectly still and listened, but heard nothing.

He wanted to call out - _hello?_ \- like some idiot girl in a horror movie, but he was a professional criminal for fuck’s sake and he knew better than that, whether he had a gun or not. He walked further into his apartment, keeping his head moving, trying to watch everywhere at once. It was sparsely furnished - minimalist chic, Adam would have called it - and it was only a few breathless moments later that he began to feel satisfied that he was alone.

Whoever had been there was gone. His first glance showed nothing obvious disturbed, so whether they’d gotten what they’d come for, he had no idea.

  
*****   


The next day Adam sent Kris a text but got no reply, then went back to Starbucks again because he didn’t know what else to do.

He was sitting at his now usual table by the window, staring at his phone and summoning the courage to break into Kris’s house and search it blind, not knowing what his security situation was, not having any idea where to begin - when the phone rang in his hands.

He hated himself for the surge of hope that it would be Kris - partly because he knew the surge wasn’t completely on Neil’s behalf - and then swallowed a hard ball of dread when he saw that it was Dale calling.

He hesitated, but knew he had to answer.

“How’s it going?” Dale said.

Adam’s mouth felt strangely dry for a man who drank so much coffee. “Fine,” he said. “I’m working on it.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard differently on that.”

Adam dropped his head into his hand. “I can get it, OK? Or will you let me pay you? Can I do anything else? I’m trying, but--”

Dale shushed him. Actually went _shhh!_ right in Adam’s ear, and Adam was stunned.

“Just get it,” he said. “You’re running out of time. Stop fucking around.”

And then that was it. No beep or click or anything, but Adam knew the call was over.

  
*****   


It didn’t take long for Kris to leave, once Adam was watching the house.

He was sitting in the shadow of a stoop across the street, bundled up in a coat, black cap on his head, trying to be invisible. It worked; nobody paid him any mind. Kris came out at dusk, locked the door behind him and walked to his car without sparing a glance in Adam’s direction.

Adam waited there a long time, though. Knowing he had to move. Knowing time was against him, that he had no idea how long Kris would be out. Finally the dusk turned to semi-dark and he made his muscles respond, glancing to left and right as he darted across the street.

He hadn’t broken into a house since he’d been a teenager - his friend Tommy’s mom had had a Warhol _original!_ \- but he was able to manage it with finesse that surprised even himself. Kris would obviously see the damage to his door, but Adam didn’t think anybody on the street would.

He moved quickly then, adrenaline pulsing now that he was in the _act,_ past the point of stopping. Where would it be? Where would Kris keep it? He knew the bedroom was up the stairs and to the left - should he start there, since it was his only familiar path? Would Kris be likely to stash grudge goods there?

He decided to venture into a different area, heading down the hall toward a darkened doorway in the back. He flipped the light on as he walked through, finding himself in a small library. The back wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, filled and overflowing with books of all sizes and colors. Some had big orange _USED_ stickers on them, and Adam realized he was looking at a college boy’s textbooks.

Cute.

There were so many art books there, too. Big, beautiful coffee table books full of color plates on thick paper. He wondered if Kris was actually a student or if he was just one of those people who couldn’t get rid of books. Then he shook his head, reminding himself that the time for daydreaming about Kris was most certainly over, what with the breaking and entering.

He walked past the shelves to the wall adjacent, where a half-dozen or so small framed paintings were hung in an eclectic grouping. Adam leaned forward, examining them, looking for the distinct crown outline that would tell him he was looking at a Basquiat, but saw nothing that looked familiar.

“You were closer over here.”

Adam startled at the voice, turning quickly to see Kris standing in the doorway. His face was blank; Adam’s first thought was to be glad that he wasn’t pointing a gun, and he thought that said poor things for his state of mind.

“Oh, god,” he said, and that seemed even worse.

“It’s in this book,” Kris said, and stepped toward the shelves. He didn’t reach for one of the big, beautiful art texts, instead grabbing a small blue hardcover and flipping it open. He pulled out what seemed like an impossibly small square of paper - the size of a cocktail napkin - and held it toward Adam. “Take it.”

Adam stood completely still for a moment, wondering if it were some kind of trap. Kris took another half step forward and Adam finally moved to meet him, reaching out to take the sketch with a jerky hand.

“He only likes it because Madonna was there,” Kris said, shrugging. “Some party in the eighties. Dale likes to pretend he had a shot with her. She was there with _him_ , though,” he nodded toward the scrap of paper in Adam’s hand. “Anyway. It’s not worth all this. Take it.”

He turned and walked away, and Adam continued to stand there, staring at the oddly beautiful sketch, with its aged and faded black lines. He heard the broken front door slam shut as Kris walked out, and a moment later Adam followed.

  
*****   


On the way to the deli Adam called Neil first, who hooted as if his team had won the World Series - and he damn sure had better never watch one of _those_ again - and then Dale.

Dale was pleased with his report and directed him to meet him at the office as before, and Adam did.

In the end the transaction was strangely clean and quick; Adam expected there would be drama of some type. But he’d walked in, handed Dale the sketch and then waited for a moment as he cooed and fawned over it. Adam had to clear his throat to get his attention back.

“So are we done, then?” he said.

“Yes,” Dale said, looking back at the small yellowing square like it _meant_ something. “That’ll do it.”

“You’ll leave my brother alone? Call off all your guys?”

“Absolutely.” Dale nodded. “Just make sure he never comes anywhere near here again, and we’re all square. Thanks for your help.”

And that was it. Adam expected somebody to get hurt, some lie or deceit to come out, gunfire or something - but when it was over he nodded to Dale and then turned and walked out the door, the bell jingling overhead as he went.

And then he was standing on the street, trying to focus on the relief of knowing he’d actually pulled this off, however unlikely it had seemed. He felt a strange tugging grief along with it, though, as he let his mind run back over the evening now that his task was done.

He felt exhausted and confused, and _guilty._ He guessed he hadn’t technically stolen that drawing, but he thought it would’ve been better if he had. He called Neil.

“It’s done,” Adam said. “You’re a free man, or whatever. Don’t call me for a while.”

  
*****   


Adam hadn’t been able to get his door properly fixed yet, but he couldn’t muster much worry for it since it was obvious that he couldn’t keep out whoever it was that wanted in anyway. So what if he fixed the lock? Fat lot of good the lock did.

He’d have one of those big reinforced deadbolt things put on later. Or move.

So it had been just closed, barely half-latched when he’d left for Kris’s house that afternoon; a gentle nudge would’ve sent it swinging open.

Which was one of a few things that made it strange that Kris was sitting on the floor, leaning against the doorjamb in the hallway when Adam got home that evening.

“You could just go in,” Adam said. Kris looked up.

“I know.”

“You broke in.”

“Yeah,” Kris said, standing up quickly. “That was me.”

Adam stared at him.

“Can I come in?”

“I guess so,” Adam said, though it sounded like a question. He pushed the door open and gestured Kris inside, completely unsure why even as he was doing it. “Nice of you to ask permission,” he grumbled as an afterthought.

“You’re one to talk.”

Oh, right. “Sorry,” Adam said.

“I expected him to send somebody eventually,” Kris said, shrugging, seeming eager to forgo smalltalk and get to the point. “And I don’t trust thieves in general. I don’t really trust _anybody_. I can’t, in my work. _I’m_ a good guy, but that’s all I know for sure. You know?”

“Yeah,” Adam said. He felt the same way.

“I just watched you a little bit, that’s all. Not even a lot, it’s just that... I saw Dale’s guys trailing you. And that pretty much confirmed what I was afraid of, then, which totally sucked because it was almost a formality at first, you know? Making sure you were cool? I wanted to just call you back.”

“Funny, I just wanted you to call.” Adam took a step forward, and space seemed to take on a strange quality. Like there was too much of it in his apartment, but he must find a way across.

And he wasn’t sure if that was an appropriate feeling at all, except that Kris was _here_ , and that had to be a good sign. It had to mean something, and Adam felt his cheeks twitch, like he wanted to smile.

“I shouldn’t have broken in,” Kris said. “I think I actually wanted to find something that would prove I was wrong.”

“I don’t really keep records of this kind of thing,” Adam said. “But I wasn’t working for him. Not really.”

“I figured that out.”

“Oh?”

“I saw you at Starbucks the other day, on the phone.”

“You did more than a little watching, I guess?”

“You were still calling me the whole time. And waiting for me there, right?” Kris smirked. “Mutual interest?”

There went Adam’s face again, betraying him, moving into a look of delight without his permission. His feet moved, too, shuffling him further forward.

“You looked like you’d seen a ghost,” Kris said. “And it clicked that he was making you do it. Holding something over you. Am I right?”

Adam nodded. “My brother. Gambling debts.”

Kris stepped closer, nodding in return. “I’m glad I gave you the damn thing, then,” he said. “I didn’t even really want it, I just think Dale’s a dick who doesn’t deserve something that cool.” He smirked. “Then I thought well, fuck, what if you end up tossed in the river or something because you couldn’t find it for him? It wasn’t supposed to be that big a deal, and you were obviously not one of his regular hired guys. I didn’t want you to get killed over it.”

“It would’ve been my brother,” Adam said, and now he was close enough to touch but scared to do it. “And he thanks you, and I thank you, too.”

“I’d like to take you out again,” Kris said. Adam had to laugh, even if it sounded a little bit crazy.

  
*****   


They ended up staying in. Adam moved the couch against the broken door, knowing it wouldn’t do much to keep anybody out but silently confident that they’d be left alone. Nobody was looking for them anymore, at least not right then.

They talked easily and at length as they had on their first date; the kind of dizzying conversation that is necessary when you have to get to know somebody you feel like you know already. So many details, so many characters, so many important crossroads to map and learn.

Adam found himself nodding, laughing, hardly ever debating - except for the great Who versus Zep scuffle that took them from three in the morning until four, but he had no hard feelings about that as it had ended rather happily for them both. In the quiet moments that followed that crescendo Kris confessed he often thought about giving up this kind of life, starting again somewhere else. Being something else.

Adam said he often thought the same thing. His voice so low it neared a whisper, he said that sometimes he wondered if he’d have been more happy waiting tables, singing at open mic nights. Sometimes he felt a great waste.

But then they were talking about art again, about Adam’s Matisse, about the way flat planes of color can feel. Everything seemed to swirl, the topics of conversation and the energy in the room and the light of the coming day, changing and moving forward and bringing them along into something new.

When Adam realized the room was lit up, Kris was dozing at his shoulder like he’d been at the end of their first date; naked, dark circles under his eyes, breathing slow but not sleeping. He had a small smile on his face. They were sitting on the floor in the living room, propped up with throw pillows, and Adam wasn’t sure why; he remembered having been in the bed before, sitting at the dining room table for a while. Now the rug was chafing him and he wiggled against it; Kris responded by snuggling in closer with a low whine, something close to a purr.

Adam let himself doze off, wondering what would happen next, knowing that whatever it was it would be unexpected. He thought they might leave, and that felt _perfect._ He thought he might get a job, or write a song, or send flowers to his mother. He was excited to find out what two thieves could do with so much daylight.

  
**~*~**   



End file.
